The unceasing search for power

It may be remembered (or it may not) by those who read this drivel on a weekly basis, that I have been trying to purchase
certain items from Argos, a practice fraught with pitfalls here at the Lazy L. Well, I finally managed a sort of partial success
in that direction during the week, Tuesday in fact. They called me down to reception and handed me two of the items which I had gone to great expense to get - they handed me my new watch and my new alarm clock.

The watch is first class, nothing to be said about it at all. The alarm clock is a retro thing, stainless steel, huge face, large, sweeping hands and two bells on top with a little hammer which will batter the two bells and wake me up like the proverbial.

"Wonderful!" you may cry. "But what is the idiot telling us about a poxy alarm clock for?"

Give me a break! Do I look like Ernest Hemingway?

So, I got the alarm clock. (The rest of the stuff I ordered is lost in the maze of the Lazy L system, better left ignored.) I got the clock and then that fickle ould tart Lady Luck decided to take a hand in the game, as she does with me on a regular
basis. She's got bugger all else to do apparently apart from polish the toecaps of her second-hand army boots, take careful aim and give me a quick crippler in the testacularities, (a word, incidentally, that I am hoping will catch on, but which hasn't so far.)

The alarm clock isn't a wind-up one. (The only wind-up around here seems to be me.) No, it isn't a wind-up one, as I had expected, but takes a battery. Of course, being me, and considering my general association with the Fickle Ould Boiler, it isn't just any old battery - it wouldn't be, would it? No, it's a little fat one that is about twice the size of a pencil battery, such as those in remote controls for the telly.

Okay, I needed a battery, so I gathered myself together and set about putting out the word that the Miserable Old Bastard needed a size 'C' battery.

I had terrorists, armed robbers, thugs, muggers and buggers running around searching - but to no avail.

I got batteries that could have powered the space lab, but not one single 'C' battery that would fit my alarm clock, which by then I was wishing I hadn't bought in the first place.

At that point I grabbed an insane Welshman who assured me that he could wire up a pencil battery to do the job of a 'C' battery.

Taff's ambition outstripped his ability - he failed.

'Right!' said I to he. "Time for lateral thinking." And I went to see a couple of the kangas who are usually quite helpful in problematic situations. I had them searching office drawers, cupboards, desks - and they even went down the Seg Unit and had a look down there.

I got little square batteries and offers of a plethora of others from various sources - but did I get one that fitted the poxy
clock (which by now was in danger of being consigned to the bin)?

Of course I didn't.

Well, yesterday was canteen day and, when I got my order sheet for next week, the first thing I ticked off was of course a 'C' battery at the princely sum of ten bob. (For those born in more modern times, that is fifty pence.)

Hopefully that will be the end of the story. I'll get the battery next week, put it in the clock and.....what if the clock doesn't actually work after all of this? Let's face it, Argos are notorious for sending out duff stuff. If that happens I will have to send it back and start all over again. The saga will continue as I seek power - much like Cameron and Clegg. (Odd that both of their names start with a 'C'.)

Now, at this point I just bet that Boudica, or Lesley (as her mother christened her), will be shaking her head at this little tale and saying, "Are you serious? Are you taking the piss? Are you trying to wind ME up?"

Not me mate - and besides, it's a well known fact that you can't wind up a broken clock.

The Voice In The Wilderness